First Cut is the Deepest
by Demosthenes23
Summary: Possible S3 Clexa story line based on the trailer.


**So this is kind of like a fic version of various theories floating around for S3. Most of them aren't mine, but a few are. Or at least, I haven't seen anyone mention them yet. Anyway, enjoy!  
**

* * *

Clarke was pretending a lot these days. She was pretending she was fine, that she wasn't broken. She was pretending she enjoyed the quiet and isolation the wilderness provided. She was pretending the numerous dreams (sexual or otherwise) about Lexa didn't mean anything. She was pretending she hadn't thought about Lexa while sleeping with Niylah. And she was currently pretending that watching Lexa fight for her right to become the next clan leader wasn't both turning her own and scaring her.

Besides sticking a few stationary guys with the pointy end of her sword, Clarke had never seen Lexa in action before. Being the brains of her operation, rather than the brawn, there had never been a need for it. But then they had found the field of massacred grounders - so reminiscent to Finn's atrocities, but on a much grander scale - and even though they had caught the unaffiliated rogue man responsible, The Ice Nation had tried to use it as an excuse to go to war with the Skaikru, claiming it was only a matter of time before they too struck again. Rather than concede to their demands, Lexa instead chose to make a permanent peace by uniting their people.

So naturally this peace was strived for by way of a fight to the death.

Oh, Lexa was allowed to concede, but if she did so, it was basically the same thing. Her people would lose faith in her abilities and her right to lead, and the coalition would crumble. It was literally do or die, and Clarke's palms became a little moister every time their weapons clashed, every time Lexa narrowly dodged or deflected the next blow. Both combatants were clearly beginning to tire, their movements becoming more sluggish and uncoordinated every second. And then suddenly Lexa was on the ground not ten feet from her, and Clarke's heart was in her throat. She had to bite her tongue to stop from calling her name in an effort to try and rouse her.

Roan stabbed downwards with his spear, but Lexa rolled away at the last instant and Clarke found she could breathe again. Except, it wasn't all good news, the previous blow to the side of the head had caused Lexa to drop her swords, and she was now defenseless. Roan blocked her route back to them, so Lexa either had to fight him bare handed, or try to make it to her second, who was a considerable distance away, holding her spear. The choice was obvious to Clarke, and yet Lexa didn't make a move. Was she still stunned from that blow?

Clarke nearly screamed again when Roan lunged at Lexa, point directed straight at her skull. Like lightning Lexa brought her hands up just before impact, holding the tip with the flats of her hands. They struggled against one another for a few moments and then she wrenched her arms sideways and snapped the tip off the wooden shaft. Before Roan could do anything more than gawk at her, Lexa flung the point into _his_ head instead, just as she would've done with her own dagger.

There was a stunned silence and then cheers of euphoria rang aloud. Except for Nia, none of the other leaders or inhabitants of Polis had wanted to see their fearless leader expire. Clarke herself kept quiet, though she was clearly relieved too as she unclenched her fists to find them partially bloodied from where her nails dug in with considerable force. She pretended she would have reacted the exact same way if it had been literally anyone of her acquaintance fighting for their life.

A somewhat dirty and sweaty Lexa caught her eye across the arena, and in that fleeting moment, Clarke pretended she hadn't felt a thrill, as if Lexa's eyes weren't saying, 'I risked my life for your people's sakes, Clarke, but mostly for yours.'

 _Not everyone_. _Not you_.

* * *

The fight had only been the first step to allowing the Skaikru to join the coalition. Now it was Clarke's turn to step up to the plate and prove her willingness to play ball and follow in grounder tradition. To complete her initiation, she had to participate in the torture of the man responsible for the slaughter. She had to cut and burn Emerson just like the rest of them. And when he finally begged for mercy, she had to be the one to end it.

For three months she had managed not to hurt a (human) soul, and in doing so, repaired _hers_ ever so slightly. She wasn't sure she could stomach what she had to do, so she attempted to dehumanize Emerson first before the torture commenced. He was strung up securely on a wheeled platform that was currently residing in the arena, not five feet from where Lexa almost lost her life. His head had bled from a cut he received upon capture, but was now dried.

The now bearded man eyed her in contempt and smirked at her approach. "Eager are we? I would've thought the blood of hundreds would've been enough for you."

"Like you're one to talk," she said calmly, willing herself not to conjure up images of all the blistered dead.

"I already told you, I didn't kill them."

"And you just _happened_ to be in possession of the same types of guns that mowed them down?"

"Lots of _your_ people have pistols and assault rifles too. Lots of _your_ people have grudges about the deal your commander made."

"They wouldn't do something like this. Not after the last time. Your frame job didn't work. We're _not_ going to go to war."

"Did you even question any of them? Jasper Jordan perhaps?"

Emerson smirked at her lack of response, and likely would have shook his head if it hadn't been secured in a neck brace to prevent him from headbutting anyone else. "You two belong together."

Clarke pretended she didn't know who he was talking about.

Taking her silence as an invitation to taunt further, he said, "I bet you both get off on the torture and murder of innocents. I bet you're going to screw her right after you kill me, like the slut you are."

It was such an obvious ploy and yet she fell for it. Reflexively, she slapped him before she realized what was happening. Emerson licked his bloodied lip, again with the damn smirk. "You're going to fit in just fine with these savages, Clarke, because you are one, and _always_ will be."

She stormed off then, shaking in rage and fear that he was right. Her feet led her to a quiet place in Polis, the shrine of the spiritual leader, Titus. They weren't exactly close, but they had gotten a chance to talk a couple of times, and she liked him, despite his annoying habit of giving unsolicited advice, eerily reminiscent of a certain someone else. This time she welcomed it, anything to stop the pounding in her skull.

He was kneeling on the carpet praying when she came in, sporting a temporary vertical stripe down his bald head that started from the top of the weird symbols and ended just between his eyes, eyes which were closed. "Welcome, Clarke."

"One day you'll have to tell me how you do that," she said, an edge to her tone.

Titus stood up and faced her, hands clasped behind his back. "You're here because you're troubled about the upcoming task."

It wasn't a question but she jerked her head once anyway. "I've never tortured anyone before."

He nodded in apparent understanding. "I love my people very much, but some of their traditions could do with changing. The commander agrees with me on this particular point and hopes to one day make ceremonial torture a thing of the past." He sighed. "Unfortunately, that day is not today."

"I thought I was done with hurting people," she said in a small tremulous voice, willing the tears not to leak. "I- I don't think I can do this, Titus."

He walked over to her, grasping her by the shoulders in a partial backwards embrace. The grounder form of a hug. "You have a strong spirit, Clarke. I can feel it. You can do what needs to be done."

"Will it ever _really_ be done though?" she choked out, watery eyes on the ground. "Or will I just have to keep on killing my entire life? My mother's a healer," she lamented. "All I ever do is destroy."

"The commander wants peace just as much as you do, Clarke," he said squeezing her shoulders. "I believe in her the same way I believe in you."

She cocked her head sideways, making them nearly nose to nose. She hadn't noticed before, but he had flecks of green among the brown. "How can you believe in someone you barely know?"

"Because I have faith," he said with a kind smile.

* * *

Five days later, Clarke donned a gray vest like top and lopsided skirt that resembled a mullet, but was somehow still sexy. They had been left out on her bed while she took a bath in an effort to once again attempt to wash away her most recent sins, as well as be fresh for the ceremony.

As if they had been watching through a hole in the wall, two servants entered the room shortly after she was done. One for her hair and the other for her war paint. The woman sat her down in a chair beside the bed, overlooking the spot she had half heartedly threatened Lexa's life. Sure she had thought of killing her on more than one occasion, but she never seriously contemplated the action knowing full well that would lead to her own death, and possibly the deaths of her people as well.

Still, after being unceremoniously yanked out of bed with Niylah, tied up and dragged to Polis by one of Lexa's goons, she hadn't exactly been happy to see her. So when she came across the knife in this room, she slipped it up her sleeve and waited for the inevitable encounter. Lexa barely had time to say her name before she had her pressed against the wall, knife to her throat.

And then Lexa looked at her with those damn haunted eyes of hers and attempted to cut _herself_ on the edge, and Clarke had floundered. She knew that Lexa regretted what she did, but to not put up the least resistance, to practically beg Clarke to do it, that had been too much for her, and she had stepped back, dropping the knife, and fled.

If it hadn't been for the massacre in the field, they might have avoided each other for days or weeks more. Not that they really talked at all on the journey there. In fact, Clarke had talked much more with Titus since coming to Polis than anyone else. He was easygoing and free of judgement. And like a priest of old, she knew she could speak in confidence, and not have to worry about him blabbing to Lexa.

The servants were highly proficient at their jobs, and before she knew it, her grounder look was complete. She looked at herself in a broken shard of glass, barely recognizing the person that stared back, not for the first time. It was hard to fathom the number of changes over the past five months, but change she had, and not for the better.

She felt up the intricate circular braids on the sides of her head, thinking of Princess Leia, and tried not to roll her eyes at her own stupid comparison. She thanked the servants and they left. Then she took a final moment to compose herself, praying for the strength to deal with this next trial.

* * *

A series of double doors were opened for her, and she confidently made her way into the throne room. The twelve clan leaders stood off to the side, gazes following her progress to the dais. She barely noticed them though because Lexa had frozen slightly upon first laying eyes on her, eyes skirting up and down her length, and then stiffly rose to her feet too, mouth ever so slightly agape. Under different circumstances, Lexa's visible reaction would have been gratifying, even flattering. As it was, she was irritated that she had to wear this ridiculous outfit, braids and all. No one else was dressed like this, and she just assumed Lexa had picked these clothes out to fulfill whatever kind of desperate fantasy she had of her. At least she didn't have to wear those damn high heels she had seen in old movies.

When she was closer, Clarke did as she had been instructed to and knelt, silently cursing the awkwardness of the too tight skirt. She bowed her head and unflinchingly said the binding words, doing her best to pretend like they weren't incredibly romantic. Thankfully she didn't have to _look_ at Lexa while she said them.

"I, Clarke of the Sky People, am yours. From this day forward until my last, my blood will be your blood."

Lexa and Titus stepped down the dais and stood in front of her. Indra remained where she was by the throne, staring without expression.

"I, Alexandria kom Trikru, accept your fealty and welcome the Sky People to the coalition."

Titus made a few bizarre gestures and then placed one hand to her head and the other to Lexa's arm, muttering to himself in a language she didn't recognize.

When he was done, he retracted his hand and Lexa, said, "Our people are now one. You may rise, Clarke."

She pushed herself to her feet to find Lexa still standing there, much too close, staring at her in a way she really shouldn't be considering their current company. Pretending she didn't see the obvious yearning there, Clarke turned to face the other leaders and nodded at each in turn. They nodded back, some more reluctantly than others. The look on Nia's face was unsettling. She didn't seem angry so much as intrigued, and when her gaze moved slightly over, Clarke knew why.

She turned back to Lexa and muttered, "Aren't you supposed to announce something now?"

Lexa blinked once and then dipped her head. She tore her eyes away from Clarke's lips to look at the others. "We will now gather outdoors for the celebration of our union."

She inwardly cringed at the way Lexa had phrased that. Clarke didn't exactly know what this part of the nights festivities entailed. She knew that all of Polis would be there, and that there would be plenty of food and drink to spare, but that was about it. Titus refused to say any more than that, which had made her nervous. So it came as no surprise to her when Lexa held out her arm slightly, a clear invitation to take it.

"Oh come now, Clarke, it's not _that_ bad," murmured Titus, who was definitely enjoying her displeasure. She hated him in that moment. "You only need place your hand over top the commanders arm."

Sighing slightly, she did that and together they led the procession of leaders back through the series of double doors, along a lengthy curving hallway, and out the main doors of Lexa's private residence. Clarke wasn't certain, but she thought it might have once been the white house. At any rate, it was definitely the biggest building in town, an obvious choice for the commander.

All the while, Lexa kept not so subtly cocking her head sideways to stare at her in a similar manner to when they went to war together. After the first time, Clarke didn't reciprocate with a forced smile, though she did keep it plastered on her face when the celebration area - the damn arena - came into view, and with it, a great number of the populace of Polis.

No one was dying here today, yet coming down the hill didn't feel much different than the previous times. Just like after the match, the people began chanting Lexa's title in Trigedasleng. Every so often she heard her name yelled too. She supposed it was more for taking down the mountain than for killing Emerson. But it was hard to say and she didn't dwell on the reason.

Lexa stopped them in the centre of the torch lit arena and faced the crowd. Someone blew a horn for complete and absolute silence. So it was that Lexa's quiet, self assured voice made its way around the considerably far back reaching crowd.

"Today we welcome the Skaikru into our midsts. Today marks the beginning of a permanent peace between our people.* Let us rejoice and celebrate our union."

Cheers rang up briefly as Lexa led Clarke over to the commander and clan thrones, and up the concrete steps. Clarke just stood there staring at hers, wondering if she really had any right to lead her people anymore. Lexa was waiting for her to sit first, so she finally did. Once Lexa sat down beside her, the other clan leaders followed suit, and when everyone was seated, music began to play.

A number of musicians with strange stringed instruments were off to the side, filling the air with an upbeat song. Servants with food and drink popped out of nowhere, handing her a glass of blood red wine. Like the failed celebratory meal together, Lexa raised her glass to her and said, "Let us drink together, Clarke."

"To peace," Clarke said, holding her glass up.

"To peace," Lexa affirmed with a nod, bringing the glass to her lips, never taking her eyes off Clarke.

 _My blood is your blood_ , she unintentionally thought as she took a small sip of the crimson liquid, and pretended neither of them had meant ' _to us_.'

Some time later as she nibbled at some of the food on the large platter between them, she watched as a group of grounders in flowing sheer white clothing made their way into the arena and began to dance to a hauntingly beautiful piece of music, all the more so for the wailing female singer who had sprung into action. They had far more grace than she had ever had as they whirled around the dance floor, keeping in time with the melodic tempo. Not that she had had a ton of practice. Besides jumping around at the unity day parties, she had never had any cause. Other than Wells, and occasionally her father, she had never danced _with_ anyone either. And definitely not anyone she was romantically interested in.

The music kicked back into high gear in a lively jig, and many of the other less finely dressed grounders joined in, and the arena was now close to half full. Just like her glass of wine. Clarke didn't recall drinking it, but the light buzz in her head told her otherwise. People cheered and clapped enthusiastically at the conclusion to the epic number.

No more music played and they dispersed slightly, as if waiting for something.

When she became aware of Lexa staring at her again, she groaned internally, having a horrible feeling where this was headed.

And sure enough, "Clarke, would you do me the honour of joining me for a dance?"

It was posed as a question, but it wasn't really a question. _Damn you, Titus_ , Clarke thought. _You couldn't have warned me at all?_

Resigned to her fate, Clarke looked over and sweetly replied, "Of course, Lexa. But I have to warn you, I _will_ step on your toes."

Lexa smiled slightly at that and said, "Step on them all you want, Clarke. I have thick boots."

Despite her desire to remain unaffected, she smiled back, genuinely this time, and was annoyed at her lack of control. Just how strong was this wine?

Lexa stood and held her arm out for Clarke once more, and Clarke took it, ever aware of the faster flow of blood coursing through her system at the contact. The sea of grounders parted more fully for them and all eyes were on them as they took centre stage. Clarke began to sweat, hoping she didn't make a complete and utter fool of herself in front of everyone. She was now completely out of her element, but Lexa seemed completely at ease, as if she had done this thousands of times, with thousands of men and women.

Clarke pretended she didn't feel a pang of jealousy over these imaginary people.

"Relax, Clarke," Lexa muttered to her. "You will do just fine."

A very slow waltz of sorts began to play. With one hand behind her back, and the other clasped with Clarke's forearm - as if they were shaking hands grounder style - Lexa began to move them slowly around the dance floor, back and forth, side to side, occasionally in a circle. She was right, this was actually pretty simple, there wasn't much to it, and Clarke succeeded in sparing Lexa's feet, or rather, avoided scuffing her boots.

The other grounders joined in again after admiring them for the first minute or so of the dance. To be honest, she had kind of forgotten they were even there. Lexa had been staring at her so hypnotically, she hadn't been able to look away. Really, the commanders gaze was once again downright inappropriate, and Clarke was doing her best not to flush at the undue scrutiny and whatever daydream was currently playing in Lexa's head. Thankfully they weren't directly beside one of the poled torches out here so no one besides herself could really see the lust there, or the growing flush of her own cheeks.

It was hard to believe she was here at this very moment, almost harder to believe than coming down to Earth and not dying horrifically like most had predicted. But here she was dancing with the commander who just so happened to be one of the most attractive women she had ever laid eyes on, and for some unknown reason was still infatuated with her, even after every terrible thing Clarke had done. Whatever issues she had with Lexa seemed to melt away. For the first time since coming to Polis, she wished they actually _were_ alone, or at the very least, that they were dancing closer together than arms length.

It seemed like perhaps Lexa was thinking along the same lines, but then their blissful bubble was burst when Garth of the desert clan gallantly offered to take over for the commander. Clarke had noticed him eyeing her from time to time during her stay in Polis, but she had pretended not to notice. If looks could kill, they would have, when Lexa's angelic face contorted and she flashed him a murderous glare. Garth hadn't been looking at Lexa though, so he didn't catch it, and rather than make a scene by stabbing him through the chest right then and there, Lexa mastered herself in the blink of an eye and graciously handed Clarke over to him, the hand behind her back balled up in fury. Some of the other clan leaders had also descended, and one of these, a brash young lady from the horse clan, claimed the irate commanders arm.

She was a tall, attractive woman and Clarke pretended she didn't feel another pang of jealousy.

They moved around each other with their new partners, coming close but never touching, locking eyes whenever they turned to face one another. Garth started talking to her, but she barely heard what he was saying. She just hoped this dance would be over soon so that she could get back to being with Lexa...perhaps in private.

But it wasn't to be, the music was never ending, as were her partners, and soon she had been swallowed up in the crowd and couldn't even locate Lexa and her red sash at all.

An eternity later, she was finally relieved of her last partner and free to look for Lexa. As usual, Lexa found her first and startled Clarke when she spoke her name from behind.

"Clarke," the commander said, voice soft with a hint of husk.

"Lexa," she returned, suddenly breathless.

They shared a smoldering gaze, and for once Clarke didn't ignore the flip of her stomach or the way a jolt of heat hit her lower down. Clarke had ended up on the outskirts of the dance area, so it was with relative ease that she grabbed Lexa's hand and pulled her into the nearest darkened alleyway. They were on each other within seconds, the hot open mouthed kisses and stifled moans coming fast and furious, a far cry from their last encounter. This time it was Lexa pressing Clarke into the wall, no knife in sight, only periodic squeezes to her sides, hips and lower as Lexa increasingly lost control of herself. Delicious sensations rolled through her when she felt Lexa's hand on her stockinged thigh, slowly traveling upward underneath the shorter half of her skirt.

When her fingertips brushed against her damp underwear, Clarke snapped back to herself, and gasped, "Lexa, what are we doing?"

Lexa who was currently cupping one breast as well as latched onto her neck, didn't respond, and only ran a calloused finger up and down her upper inner thigh, stopping just short of the madly throbbing area. Clarke's knees were beginning to buckle with the intense want, but was she really going to let Lexa screw her for the first time out in the open with the entire city within ears reach? Was she really going to let Lexa screw her when she wasn't even sure that she actually _liked_ her?

"Lexa, I'm serious," she reiterated. "This is insane. We're going to get caught."

"Let them find us," Lexa said, register lower than Clarke had ever heard it before. It was incredibly sexy. "It doesn't matter anymore. Our people are one."

"It _does_ matter," she retorted, doing her best to think straight as Lexa grazed the underside of her now embarrassingly wet underwear. "You can't show favourites where your clan leaders are concerned. They'll think you only did all of this for me."

"But I _did_ only do this for you, Clarke."

Her confession hit them at the same time. Clarke had surmised as much, but neither had given voice to it, the pain of the past always getting in the way. Abruptly Lexa stopped everything she was doing and just stared at Clarke with eyes even blacker than the alleyway they were in.

"Lexa..." she muttered, glancing away.

Lexa cupped her face with both hands. She smelled herself on Lexa's fingertips and nearly groaned. "I know you still haven't completely forgiven me. I understand that you might never be able to, nor do I begrudge you that, but I need you to know that I truly do care, Clarke. I've always cared about your well being." She rubbed a thumb along her cheek and Clarke felt compelled to make eye contact again. "If I could've prevented your participation in Emerson's death, I would have. I would have spared you that trial in a heartbeat. I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Clarke," she finished softly, with tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry for the mountain. I'm so sorry for every-"

Clarke caught her lips in a heated kiss and Lexa moaned loudly, which magnified the ache in her loins to epic proportions. When she pulled away, Lexa just stood there dumbly, mouth parted, eyes hooded and Clarke's war paint smudged everywhere. Clarke was sure she didn't look much different. There was no way she could go back to the party without first relieving the tension down below. So she clenched her thighs, grabbed Lexa's hand and dragged her further away from the crowd, where they weren't likely to be disturbed, and Lexa could finish telling her just how sorry she really was in peace.

* * *

 ***Haha, yeah right, Lexa.  
**

 **If something like this actually happens, I will probably die.**


End file.
